She sat back in her saddle, and watched his face, her eyes following his. “Besides, what you live, you start to become. The longer I act like a pretty fool, the more likely I am to turn into one. Is that really what you want from me?”

“No!” he exclaimed, startling Roan into a snort. “No, what I love about you is how strong you are, how clever you are, how much you’re like a friend—the way I can talk to you like another man—”

He stopped himself, appalled, but it was too late. She was nodding.

“But this is what you asked me to become,” she replied, taking in dress, hair, and all with a single gesture. “Daren, dearheart, you don’t really want me as a lover, you want me as a friend, a companion. But I can’t be a companion in your world—I can only be something like this.”

He tried to say something to refute her, but nothing would come out.

“Daren, you have a companion and partner waiting for you—someone who needs your help and support and the fact that you love him, and needs it more than I ever will,” she said softly, but emphatically. “Your brother is and will be more to you than I ever can. Or ever should. And once we’d both gotten to the Court, you’d have found that out. I could never be more than a burden to you then, and it would frankly be only a matter of time until my temper made me an embarrassment as well.”

“I—you—” he sputtered a while, then shook his head, as his gelding champed at the bit, impatient to be off. “I—I guess you’re right,” he said, crestfallen. “I can’t think of any reason why you should be wrong, anyway.” He looked down at his saddle pommel for a moment, then defiantly met her eyes. “But dammit, I don’t have to like it!”

“No, you don‘t,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

She stared right back into his eyes, and in the end, he was the one who had to drop his gaze.

“Daren,” she said, after a moment of heavy silence, broken by the stamping of horses, creak of leather, and jingle of harness, “Wait a couple of years. Wait until I’ve found my place. Then I can be your eccentric friend, that crazy female fighter. Princes are expected to have one or two really odd friends.” She chuckled then, and he looked up and reluctantly smiled.

“I suppose,” he ventured. “You might even do my reputation some good.”

“Oh, definitely.” The smile she wore turned into a wicked grin. “Just think how people will react when they know I’m your lover. ‘Prince Daren, tamer of wild merc women!’ I can see it now, they’ll stand in awe of your manhood!”